


Let That Sky Fall

by fishfingersandjellybabies



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Gen, M/M, dark-ish au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 14:51:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5789518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishfingersandjellybabies/pseuds/fishfingersandjellybabies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All he can think of is the past. When he was injured, when he was found, when he accidentally fell in love. He wonders what it would be like, if it all had turned out different. </p><p>If he’d just said yes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let That Sky Fall

**Author's Note:**

> In a vague, maybe darker, AU. Damian grew up with the al Ghuls, Tim in his normal role with the Batfam. I’d say they’re all aware of Bruce’s role, but it’s not a huge thing here? In Tim’s flashbacks, Damian’s probably like, 21, and he’s at least five years older if not more. The present can be as many years later as you want it to be. Inspiration/Supplemental listening: ‘Skyfall’ by Adele, obviously. Shout out to @ollies-outies and @varevare for being positively flawless and letting me throw this fic at them multiple times when I was proud of it. Thank you loves~

He stood on the rooftop, watched the embers the city had become. The fight was over now. They’d won, if you could really call this a victory at all. More had been lost than protected. More tears than smiles. More funerals than…well, anything.

Still. She would rebuild. Gotham was good at that. The world was resilient.

He sighed, and chastised himself as his mind began to wander.

 _Don’t think about it, don’t think about him._ He told himself, even as he ground his teeth together, closed his eyes in almost mourning. _He was part of this. He let this happen. He didn’t…he didn’t_ stop _this._

The thoughts came, though. Plagued his mind almost worse than the images of slaughter he’d just witnessed for days. For months.

 _What would have happened_ , He wondered. _If I had just said yes._

He could see stolen moments, free to be consumed by all. He could see dark, warm hands reaching for him. For his face, his chest, his hips, his knees. Could feel them as they ran down his skin. Gentle – far more gentle than they were ever supposed to be.

He saw a wedding. Not _the_ wedding, not the wedding Ra’s wanted, or Talia. But the one _he_ wanted, to the _man_ he wanted. Pastel colors and shades of gray. Too many flowers and not enough chairs. Free alcohol and loud music, and those _hands_. Holding him as they danced. Brushing across the back of his neck as they listened to the toasts. Sliding the ring on his finger with trembles and nerves.

An errant explosion went off in a quarter he knew was long since deserted. He didn’t move to go put it out.

There would be no wedding like that. There would be no man like that either.

All because Ra’s made the request, when he was well enough to hear it. And he hadn’t realized it at the time, and maybe he should have. Maybe if he had, things would be different now, but he didn’t then. Didn’t notice how Ra’s had shooed everyone from the room, including the person they were going to talk about.

“The proposal is simple.” He had said. “Marry my grandson.”

To say Tim had been taken aback was an understatement.

“It would do nothing but benefit you. You’d be surrounded in safety, have access to the best training facilities, medical centers, science labs. Be incredibly wealthy, if that is something you care about.” Ra’s had shrugged at the last one, like all of this was something everyone had access to. “And all you’d have to do, really, is just a little bit of work for me time to time.”

Work, Tim knew, that would involve assassinations. Stealing things, hurting people, _crimes_.

“And if I say no?” He’d asked, doing everything in his power not to think of the one who had been forced to leave the room. Not to think of the one who had taken care of him, in every way possible, since he’d been stuck in this stupid place.

(Because it was best not to let Ra’s know. Because the heavens only knew that Ra’s would use it against him, use it against _them_. And while he was now, technically, in the League’s folds, in their good graces, it was not a risk he was willing to take. Not for himself. Not for the life of the one who so dearly called him _beloved_.)

“Then you will be banned from this place, and made an enemy of my family.” Ra’s explained. But there was no malice in his voice, or victory. It was just a fact, and he was just the messenger. “So, if I were you, I would take the proposal. Become the husband to my heir and watch the world trip over itself to give you everything you’ve ever wanted. There is no downside.”

But there was. Because Ra’s was asking him to marry his grandson, the al Ghul heir.

And Tim just wanted to marry _Damian_.

There was a difference, Tim knew. The Damian with him was sweet, and kind. Gentle, even, in an almost childish way. But the Damian with Ra’s, with the other warriors of the League of Shadows…he was a monster. A killer, and cold. Heartless and stoic and terrifying.

And if he took Ra’s’s proposal, he knew he’d be getting the latter. No matter how much Damian didn’t want to give him that. Didn’t want to _be_ that.

He watched the flame from the explosion grow higher. Wondered how many already-dead bodies it was burning, if that was its fuel, if there would be anything left when it eventually burned itself out.

He thought of the day he left. The twenty minutes after his diagnosis as completely healthy that Ra’s gave him to get out. The nurses scrambling to help him, the old woman pleading with him to let her go find Damian, to give the two of them that one last goodbye that they deserved. To give Tim that chance to take Damian with him.

“Take him with you. He will protect you. You will protect him!”

It was a chance that Tim refused, thinking the woman didn’t know what she was talking about, thinking it would keep the younger safe. Just because he was now in the bad graces of one of the most powerful men in the world didn’t mean he would force Damian to the same fate.

Because Ra’s would have come after them. Ra’s would have killed Damian for his betrayal. For picking Tim over his heritage, his family. Choosing Tim over his supposed destiny.

And he would not let Damian die for him. He _wouldn’t_. He loved him too much to gamble with the younger’s life, no matter how much Damian was probably willing to do so himself.

He never forgot that image, though. That one time he turned around, when he reached the peak of that dune. The silhouette in the window of what was now no longer his room. The slumped shoulders, the bowed head.

Tim never stopped wondering what would have happened if he’d have indulged the old woman, if he’d have allowed her to go grab the young man and tell him the truth of what was happening. If he’d snatched Damian up and dragged him out into the desert, without explanation or anything beyond the clothes on his back. Would Damian have come willingly? Would he have stayed?

But the biggest question of all was: What lies did Ra’s al Ghul tell his grandson after Timothy Drake’s sudden exodus?

Tim swallowed the lump in his throat. Tried to get his mind away from the past. Away from the what-ifs.

It was a hard task, though.

_What if you had taken him with you? What if he knew the truth? What if this is all your fault?_

_…What if he’s dead, because of this?_

Because Tim wasn’t considered one of the world’s greatest detectives for nothing. After he’d left, once he set back up in Gotham, he looked for him. Looked for Ra’s and his grandson, for Talia and her most precious baby. Found them, easily enough. Watched their path of destruction across the world. Watched Damian turn into the monster Ra’s always wanted him to be. Watched him maim and murder, with hands full of sorrow and rage and the most heart break Tim had ever seen.

_What if he’s dead, because of me?_

Because at this point, Tim could only _assume_ Damian was involved with Gotham’s most recent apocalypse. Could only _hope_. Knew Ra’s was, for sure. But Damian…well, he couldn’t find Damian anymore. Had lost his trail ages ago. Had no physical proof his involvement, or even his existence, since long before this catastrophe started.

And he’d rather Damian alive and evil, than dead and gone.

He closed his eyes, felt his heart tighten, breathing becoming a slight struggle.

_Please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead, Damian. Please._

He tried to force himself to think of the positive. Think of that dream, that he knew would never happen. That wedding, the one _he_ wanted. Tried to picture them cutting the cake together, their first dance together, whispering those ‘I do’s, the _wedding night_.

He’d give up the whole world, give up this whole victory, if he could just confirm that Damian was still breathing. Somewhere, anywhere.

The fire crackled higher, harder, and Tim focused on the noise. On the snapping of wood and crumbling of steel. Focused so hard that he missed the sound of a landing behind him.

He didn’t miss it for long, though. Tuned in to the slow shuffle of footsteps. Immediately assessed the sound, and the potential threat it carried. It wasn’t turning out to be much of one, he decided, and this wasn’t one of Ra’s’s fighters. The ninja of the League of Shadows struck instantly and with no mercy. They didn’t loom, or approach cautiously.

So not an enemy, then.

Or at least, not a known one.

He turned his head only slightly, glanced at the floor of the roof, tried to catch a shadow or two, but the light of the fire was smudging them, making them abstract.

The other person suddenly stopped, not far behind him, and Tim heard a deep exhale.

He kept his head tilted, kept one hand on his belt, but didn’t look. Not yet.

“I don’t want to fight.” He decided.

The returning voice was deep, and tired. Accented, and familiarly so. “Nor do I.”

Tim spun around before it was a conscious thought to do so.

The other was tall, taller than Tim remembered him. Not by much, but enough to make a difference. He was wearing a cloak of some sort, one that rivaled Batman’s cape, and it shrouded him in almost complete darkness. But it didn’t cover everything, and Tim saw fresh scars adorning the flesh of his neck, the back of his hands, the slice of his leg that could be seen through slashed armour.

There was a scar on his forehead, slashing through his left eyebrow, right above eyes that used to be blue.

It was him, though. The same man Tim loved, all those years ago.

(The same one he left, standing alone in that room, silhouetted in that window.)

Damian blinked, but his hands remained at his sides.

(Hands that touched him once. Cared for him once. Hands that Tim fantasized touching and caring for him again. Running across his cheeks, lifting him from the ground. Holding him. Hands that Tim kissed, that he wanted to kiss, over and over for the rest of his days.)

“Hello, Timothy.”

He wanted to run forward. Take Damian into his arms or fall into his. He wanted to drop to his knees. Apologize, beg for forgiveness _. I’m sorry for leaving, I’m sorry for leaving you. I’m sorry for never coming back for you._

Because he’d realized over the years, that he probably could have. That originally he’d left Damian behind for his own safety, but, really. He could have. Stormed back and saved that man from the indoctrination Ra’s was attempting. Gone back and told him the truth, let Damian decide for himself, instead of make all the decisions for him.

He could have.

He _should_ have.

He wanted to push Damian to the ground. Straddle his hips. He wanted to kiss him, _fuck_ him. Rip that cloak off and worship his skin like he always fantasized. Like he _did_ , once upon a time. Wanted to relive the past, wanted to experience everything he daydreamed in the time since then. Because there was nothing like the real thing, nothing like _Damian_ , and really – his own hand could only take him so far.

He wanted to do that. Wanted to do everything.

Instead, he did nothing. Because the thought screamed in his head.

_What if he doesn’t love you anymore?_

Because Tim still loved him. Tim still adored him. Never moved on, never could, as much as he tried. But that didn’t mean the same for Damian. Because Tim left him, without anything. Without an explanation or even a goddamn goodbye. And if that were Tim, he’d be furious. He’d be heartbroken and bitter, and there was no reason to think that the only, _spoiled_ , child of Talia al Ghul should be any different.

After all. He’d just called him _Timothy_ , not _Beloved_. And that was probably pretty telling in itself.

So he swallowed the lump in his throat. Steeled his fluttering heart.

“Hello, Damian.”

Silence, filled with the burning of that fire, now behind him. Damian continued to stare, and Tim was having trouble holding that gaze. Out of fear, out of intimidation. Out of knowing they didn’t used to be that deep of a green. Out of knowing what caused them to be that color.

He pressed on, though. Hid his emotions, like he always tried to. Like he never could with Damian. “Long time no see.”

“Indeed.” Damian agreed.

Tim nodded, held his head high. He kept trying to avoid the slash on Damian’s thigh, especially now that he could see the blood seeping onto his pant-leg. “Kept…you’ve, uh. Kept yourself alive, I see.”

“For the most part.” Damian cracked a smile at that. “And it appears that you have too.” A pause, and that smile warmed a little. “I’m…glad.”

And suddenly, everything settled.

“Really?” And it was stupid. The world was ending, had already done so. There were people to help, sectors to clear, cities to rebuild, but. He had to know. “You are?”

“I am.” Damian confirmed, finally, finally, taking a step forward. Just one, though. And not an inch further. “You’re surprised?”

“A little.” Tim admitted. There was a crash behind him. More collapsing structures from the fire, but he had to look anyway, just to be sure. Embers flew into the air in waves. It was pretty, in a way. “I mean. I did leave you behind, Damian.” A sigh, and a sad laugh. “I told you I loved you and then I left you behind. Most people don’t forget something like that. Or forgive. I…really didn’t expect you to do either. Hell, you would have been right _not_ to.”

Another footstep, then another. And another. Then, a breath on his neck.

“It would have done me no good to remain bitter after I learned the truth.” Damian claimed, even as Tim turned back to face him. He stared up at Damian, who was staring over his head, at the flames himself. Tim wondered, just barely, if it was Damian who set off the explosion. Found himself not caring. Not really. “You did _not_ love me. So what business did I have mourning your loss, when you left to make yourself happy? That is all I ever wanted, Timothy, your happiness. And if you love someone you let them go. That’s the old adage, no?”

Tim was already shaking his head, already pushing into Damian’s space, reaching for those fingers. Because that wasn’t the truth, but it was just as he feared – that it was the truth Ra’s _gave_ him.

“No, Damian-”

“It’s fine.” Damian promised sweetly, even as he let Tim take his hand between both his own. “You do not need to justify. Nor apologize.”

“No, Damian, I’m not.” Tim could feel the ramble on his tongue. “I mean, I am. I _will_. I _want_ to, but, _but_.” He deflated, stared desperately up at Damian, who was blinking down at him in surprise. “Is that what Ra’s told you?”

“It was one of the last things he told me before I left, yes.” Damian said slowly. “He said he was there the night you vanished.”

“Well, then Damian. I hate to break it to you, but-” Now it was Tim’s turn to blink. Cock his head to the side. “Wait, when _you_ left?”

Damian nodded. “A few years ago. I realized, partially through your influence I suppose, that what he and my mother were doing was wrong. I no longer wanted anything to do with it. He was not happy with my leaving, but there was no much he could do about it.”

“He could have killed you.” Tim pointed out.

“And he continues to try.” Damian countered, almost jovially, like it was all a big joke. “He did, once, but. You cannot keep an al Ghul down for long, he is the absolute proof of that.” Damian smiled, and Tim couldn’t help but think how beautiful it was in the massive firelight. “But, he’s paying for his slights. Or did you really think you and your cute little… _resistance group_ did _all_ the work?”

Tim couldn’t help but gasp, because it was just a theory. Just an idea he and the others shared when they knew they were too lucky, too many times.

“You were the inside man?” Tim whispered.

“I prefer the term ghost.” Damian shrugged. “Can’t quite be _inside_ when you’ve been shunned, and are working in secret.”

“That’s…” And Tim couldn’t comprehend it fast enough. He dropped Damian’s hand and dashed around him, pacing the rooftop frantically. “That’s why you went off-grid. That’s why there was no more evidence of your travels, or your missions. That’s why _I couldn’t_ _find you_ -”

“Wait, what?” Damian had spun around now, his eyes hardened. “ _Find_ me? What’re you…were you _following_ me?”

Tim jerked to a halt, and looked up at Damian sadly.

“Since the day I left.” Tim admitted softly. “Or…or, I tried to. But…but I lost track of you, about a year ago. I thought you were dead and-”

“I was.” Damian countered, matter-of-factly. “That was the one time my grandfather succeeded in having me killed. But when I came back, I remained underground, to focus completely, and work harder to take down his mission.” He shook his head, seemed frustrated. “But that’s besides the point. You were following me since _you_ left? You were the one who fell out of love with _me_ , Drake, the least you could have done was let me move on in _peace_.”

Damian’s words became harsher the more he spoke. And Tim’s heart hurt at the name _Drake_.

Damian hadn’t called him Drake since before the first time they’d kissed.

“Or what, had I found other happiness, were you going to swoop in and try to take me back?” Damian snapped. “Did you think I _belonged_ to you, even after you _abandoned_ me?”

Tim almost smiled. Guess Damian wasn’t as over it all as he claimed he was.

“No.” Tim answered first. “No, you don’t belong to me, and I never thought that.” He did smile now. Sadly, mostly with his eyes and the slight twitching of his lips’ corners. “But it seems that _I_ …have always belonged to _you_.”

Damian backed away now, and Tim could see a defensiveness in his posture. A fear. “What the _hell_ are you talking about.”

“…Ra’s lied.” Tim said simply, keeping his distance. Knowing Damian’s greatest skill was running, and that he was on the edge of the rooftop, a grapple gun in easy reach at his belt. “I didn’t leave because I didn’t love you anymore, Damian. I left because I…because I love you too _much_.”

Damian furrowed his brows. Hesitantly narrowed his eyes. “I…I don’t believ-”

“He was going to use me against you.” Tim continued. “Force us to marry so he could manipulate you through me, and I wasn’t about to let that happen. Not to us. Not to you.”

Damian didn’t say anything.

“So I turned him down, and he forced me to leave.” Tim whispered. “I…I wanted to explain to you, but I didn’t have the time. The nursemaids wanted me to take you with me, but I was afraid Ra’s would come after you, try to _hurt_ you, so for your safety I _didn’t_.”

Damian’s lips had parted now, but still. Nothing.

“I didn’t.” Tim repeated softly. Let his shoulders slump, the relief of true honesty flowing through his bones. “And I’ve regretted it every day since.”

Damian just blinked, brows still knitted in confusion and hurt and probably anger. Pressed together so tightly, they hid that scar along the left one almost completely.

“And I don’t want anything. Like you just said about me, your happiness, and _safety,_ is all I’ve ever wanted.” Tim pressed. “But Ra’s lied, Damian. About everything, and about one thing in particular. I _never_ moved on. I’ve thought about you every second of every day. But, I know that doesn’t matter, because I know, even though it was based on a lie, that you _have_ moved on and I don’t want to take any newfo-”

“I haven’t.” Damian suddenly blurted. Tim’s breath died in his throat, even as Damian glanced away. Looked down at his shoes, let the creases on his face disappear, and quietly said, “I…I haven’t.”

Tim stopped breathing. And that wasn’t a figurative statement.

“…Timothy.” Damian whispered, not looking up. “Is what you just told me the truth? The _whole_ truth?”

Tim nodded. Violently, vigorously. Faster than he ever remembered doing so in his life.

“Then I suppose I should share my own truths as well.” Damian decided. He inhaled and looked up. Held the breath, squared his shoulders. “I…I lost myself, after you left. I know I made it sound like I simply moved on like it was nothing, but- …well. It was years between you leaving and Ra’s telling me that you…well, telling me what he wanted me to hear. But the years within that span…” His eyes were so sad, and Tim had that urge again. To run into his arms. To kiss his breathless. To _hold_ him. “…You would not have recognized me, Beloved.”

Oh, not that.

Tim didn’t deserve _that_.

“And you would have been ashamed of me. Perhaps Grandfather’s truth would have been the _world’s_ truth, in those years.” Damian sighed. “And, I suppose, it would be hypocritical of me to be angry with you.”

Tim dared, now. Took that dangerous step forward. “Why so?”

“Because after Ra’s told me.” Damian said slowly, glancing up through his lashes now. Like he was nervous. Like back when they spent their first night together. Like back when Damian first admitted those three little words. “After I left the al Ghul compound and family…I looked for you too.”

_No._

“I found you on occasion. Tried to steer you in the right direction, or the bad guys towards you. But I found I could never…could never just _come_ to you. Never meet with you, or speak with you, or even correspond with you.”

_No, no, no, no._

“I’m not quite sure why. I would prepare myself to do it. Frankly it would be my intent every time. But in the end…” He laughed, shook his head. “In the end, I never could. Perhaps it was because of the blood perpetually on my hands. Perhaps it was because I felt I was too dangerous, that I might try to hurt you. Or perhaps…hm. Heh. Perhaps it was because I believed my grandfather; you didn’t love me, were happy without me, and I was still too heartbroken to see it in person.”

No, no, _no_.

This was _wrong_.

Tim left him behind to save him. Thought about him, yes. Fantasized about him and the life they could have had, yes. Regretted leaving him behind, _yes_. But he left him behind to save him.

Not to utterly _ruin_ him.

(Not to force him to waste his life, either with him and his love or _looking_ for him.)

He expected anger. He expected Damian to be furious and mean, and to use that fury to throw himself fully into something else. Into Ra’s’s mission, into his own training, into murder and destruction.

He _wanted_ that anger. Wanted to hear the trials and accomplishments that Damian went through because of it. Wanted harsh words and cruel insults and maybe an attempted punch or two. A _fight_.

But he couldn’t handle heartache.

He couldn’t handle the images of Damian sobbing for him, staring up at the stars in search of him. Giving up everything he’s ever known to follow the ideals Tim hinted at. Willingly be disowned by his family to trail the world after Tim like a lost fucking _puppy_.

He couldn’t handle the heartache.

He couldn’t handle _Damian’s_ heartache.

The fire continued to burn behind Damian, and the city remained demolished.

It felt like a strange personification of Tim’s own heart.

“But, the past is the past, and there isn’t much we can do about it now, is there?” Damian chuckled again. “The truth is out there now, so. Perhaps. We can let bygones be bygones.”

No.

That wasn’t good enough.

Damian turned away at another crumbling of a building, the fire spreading among the ashes of Gotham now, to watch the embers go up into the universe. So he didn’t see Tim move. Didn’t see the smaller begin a desperate path towards him.

Tim thought of that dream again. The wedding. The suits. The hands. The _life_.

He wanted it. He _needed_ it.

He was going to _take_ it.

Take it and keep it and never exist another second without it.

“Perhaps,” Damian continued, as he slowly spun back. “You and I could even start ov-mmph!”

Tim grabbed the back of Damian’s neck with both hands. Dragged him downwards and smashed their mouths together. Already parted his own lips, offered his tongue. Yielded himself, set to devour, and already in the process of doing so.

One second.

He felt Damian’s hands at his hips a moment before Damian returned the affection, just as enthusiastically. Open his own mouth wider and wider with each pass, as if trying to eat Tim’s whole face.

And honestly, at this point, Tim would have let him.

A minute passed, then two. Tim heard the faint buzz of his communicator, but didn’t care. Didn’t give a _fuck_. He missed this. Missed him, missed _Damian_ , more than anything in the world. Missed his taste, his aggression, his scent.

That fire could spread to their building right now. Kill them both and he wouldn’t care.

Damian was his once more, and he wasn’t letting go of him again.

Time blurred, and Tim honestly couldn’t say how long it was before Damian gently pulled back. Before Tim followed his movement, only to press their sweaty, dirty foreheads together, and listen to the sounds of their mixing breaths.

Damian’s eyes were closed, hands still clamped around Tim’s hips. Holding him by his utility belt and keeping him close. Tim’s eyes were open, and he took the opportunity to take in Damian’s face, commit every pore to memory. Every eyelash, every hair, every wrinkle. Made a list of every scar, and a silent promise to worship every single one.

The words were out of his mouth before he could think. And even after he did, he knew they were the right ones.

“Let’s leave.”

Damian’s eyes – green eyes, Lazarus eyes, and Tim wondered who threw him in that poisoned water – flew open, and not for the first time, he asked, “What?”

“You and me. Let’s blow this place. Jump on the wind and never come back.” Tim urged. Damian stared, and Tim could feel the slight tremors as the younger began to slowly shake his head.

“Timothy, my grandfather. Your resistance.” He started. “Just because this battle has been won does not mean-“

“They’ve taken enough from us.” Tim lifted his hands, held Damian’s jaw as he pressed their foreheads tighter together. “I missed you. Damian, I missed you more than I care about this whole city. This whole _world_. And you know what? I did lie. I _lied_ when I said I didn’t want anything. I want _you_. I want to never let go of you ever again.” A pause, as the wind blew at both their capes. “And I’m not going to.”

Damian’s eyes were wide. Disbelieving and hopeful.

“…Ghosts need friends.” Tim whispered, a smirk playing on his lip as he ran his fingers gently across Damian’s cheek, across his lips. “And without you, I’ve been dead for years anyway.”

It was sappily poetic, but its meaning no less true, and Tim laughed when Damian collapsed into his arms because of it. Buried his face in Tim’s neck and lifted his hands to dig into Tim’s shoulder blades.

“Your friends. Your _allies_ …”

Tim wrapped his arms around Damian’s neck. “Fuck ‘em.”

His comm. crackled again, this time with voices. Urgent, desperate. Asking for his location, asking for any eyes on the Red Robin.

He smiled as he yanked it from his ear, dropped it to the ground and stomped on it with the heel of his boot.

Ghosts didn’t communicate with the living.

“Come.” He said instead, sliding his hands down Damian’s arms and grasping his hands as he pulled away. “We need to get out of here before the fire spreads, and anyone comes to investigate.”

He tugged Damian’s hands, but the other hesitated, just slightly.

“…You’re sure?” He asked quietly, squeezing Tim’s hands. He glanced down at the shattered communicator. “Absolutely sure about all of this?”

“More than I’ve ever been about anything.” Tim promised. “Now come on. I know the perfect place where you and I can get… _reacquainted_.” Another mischievous grin. “And have the perfect plane to get us there.”

There was the sudden sound of a helicopter, and Tim could see it in the distance. His smile waned a little, when Damian still didn’t move. And suddenly the fear set in.

_What if he doesn’t want this?_

Damian must have heard the helicopter too. He turned back towards the fire, dropping one of Tim’s hands, watching the craft inch closer.

_He’s going to leave again. He still thinks I don’t love him. He wants me to stay with my friends, stay fighting the good fi-_

Damian squeezed his fingers again, and suddenly it was _him_ pulling.

“I know a better way.” He said with the hint of a smile, yanking Tim close to his side. “… _Reacquainted_ , huh?”

“Honey, I’d throw you down and fuck you like a bad porno right now, if we had the time.” Tim admitted. Damian grinned, outright. “But as it stands…”

Damian chuckled, left an affectionate peck against the loose strands of Tim’s bangs, then moved forward, dragging Tim behind him and towards the roof’s edge.

And it was stupid, to be thinking about it. Because the more Tim mulled over it, the more he realized: he and Damian probably really weren’t the marrying type. Not in general, not when forced, not even for love. Not now, in the light of a midnight arson, or probably even later, when they’re wearing sunglasses to hide their identities and secretly hacking into bad guys’ networks.

It was just a fact. Ghosts didn’t get married.

But he would never stop fantasizing about that wedding. And, just like earlier that evening, the illusion filtered into his mind on accident, and against his will.

Because before, he was lamenting. No dream wedding because no dream man.

But now he had a man. He had _his_ man once more, not tainted by family, destiny or indoctrination.

He had his cake, and by God, he wanted to eat it too.

(Figuratively and literally.)

Tim chuckled as they reached a small ladder, one that led straight to the ground. As Damian released his hand to head down the rungs first.

“Hey…Damian?”

Damian didn’t look up, watching the ground for any movement. “Hm?”

Tim watched him for a second. The flow of his black cape, the speckles of blood littering his skin and clothes. The dirt and grime and sweat caked to his skin. Glanced down at his own hands. The tears, faded cloth and ash.

Because it was a joke. An inside joke. Maybe. Probably.

(Not.)

_Bright colors, accented against gray suits. Too many flowers and not enough chairs…_

Damian glanced up at him expectantly, looking regal and heroic in his pose against the ladder, his cape billowing around him, embers drifting past him. “…Beloved?”

Tim laughed again as he leaned over the roof’s ledge, threw his foot onto a rung and grinned.

“Just out of curiosity, how do you feel about pastel colors?”


End file.
